


For the Love of Camelot

by thenerdyindividual



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Canon Universe, Comedy of Errors, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Light Angst, M/M, Magic Girl Merlin, Magic Revealed, Oblivious Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26477077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: Merlin picks up a staff in the woods one day, and it gives his magic an unimaginable boost. It also comes with a light show. (AKA: 5 times Merlin does a magic girl transformation near Arthur without him noticing, and the one time Arthur notices).
Relationships: Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 400





	For the Love of Camelot

**Author's Note:**

> I will give you one guess as to what show I was re-watching when struck with this idea.

1.

The first time it happens is a few days after he is appointed Arthur’s manservant, a few days after he saved Arthur’s life. Arthur takes them out on a ‘hunting trip’ which Merlin has just learned is secretly code for ‘my father is driving me up a wall, let’s get out of here’. The day is chilly and cold, without much to be seen behind the thick clouds. Fog clings to the forest floor in wisps, and no animals stir, rather defeating the whole point of a proper hunting trip.

Merlin isn’t sure when he first feels the pull. It’s far more subtle than Kilgharrah’s, although at the time he didn’t know Kilgharrah’s name, he is still just The Dragon, and Merlin is not yet wise to his machinations and manipulations. Either way, this pull is far more subtle than having an annoying voice he can’t block out, calling his name late into the night. 

He finally notices what he’s doing when he drifts off the path for the fifth time, only for Arthur to tug him firmly back. Arthur has that look on his face, the one that means he’s concerned but is trying to hide it with irritation because care for a servant is improper. 

“Merlin, where is your head at? It’s like you’re lost in the clouds more than usual today.” Arthur asks, voice snappy and hard, but bellied by an undercurrent of softness. 

Merlin snaps back to reality, blinking the haze from his eyes, “Sorry. Didn’t get much sleep.”

“Well wake up, or I’m going to push you in a stream,” Arthur grumbles, “I don’t want to have to drag you out of the path of an oncoming boar because you were too much of an idiot to notice it.”

“Yes, sire.”

The pull starts again about half an hour later. It’s like its waiting for Arthur’s attention to be elsewhere before trying to reestablish the connection with Merlin. Merlin is ready for it this time, the awareness brought on by Arthur forces him to pay attention. 

It’s like a humming under his skin; a tug deep in his chest calling _this way, this way_. He doesn’t allow it to pull him off the path again, but every few steps an invisible line grows taut. It’s impossible to ignore, his whole being attunes to whatever it is that keeps calling him.

Merlin gives in.

“Sire?”

“What is it _now_ , Merlin?” Arthur sighs, sounding extremely put upon.

Merlin licks his lips, takes a deep breath, and lies, “I noticed some herbs a little ways back that Gaius is running low on. I’m going to double back to pick them.”

Merlin is a terrible liar. Thankfully Arthur hasn’t learned that about him yet, hasn’t developed the ability to tell. Arthur sighs, flicks his fingers in a dismissive gesture, and returns to the hunt with the men. Merlin turns on his heel, and follows that invisible line in his chest.

He wanders in a daze, barely able to notice his surroundings. With every step the buzzing in his skin grows louder. It spreads deeper; into his chest, into his very bones. Then it stops.

He stands in a clearing with a stream. Fog clings to the roots of the surrounding trees, curls elegantly against the low grass, and winds its way like a live thing around the object in the center. It’s a staff a little taller than Merlin himself. The wood curves around itself, twisting into a setting with a glowing blue stone. When Merlin set eyes on it, that tug in his chest returns.

He approaches it warily, eye out for a trap, but when no bandits burst from the trees, and no magical being comes out of the woodwork to snatch it away, he picks it up. The wood is warm in his hand despite the damp, and the stone pulses with light when he runs his fingers over it. There are runes carved into the body, like the ones in the magic book Gaius gave him.

“For the love of Camelot.” Merlin reads aloud.

Deep blue light tangles with gold in the air. Wind thick with power rushes by Merlin’s ears, drowning the world out. When the moment passes, something is different. It feels like something shifts in his soul, and his nose itches. He raises his free hand to rub the itch away and the side of his hand brushes something soft and hairy.

Merlin jumps nearly a foot in the air, and snatches his hand away. Curiosity getting the better of him, he brings his hand back up. He touches his upper lip, his chin, his cheeks. He has a beard. A proper, thick, manly beard. This is shocking for two reasons. The first: before entering the clearing he was fresh faced and smooth. The Second: the last time he tried to grow a beard it kept coming out scraggly no matter what he did.

Staff still in hand, he runs over to the stream and leans over to catch a look at his reflection. Not only has he developed a beard, his clothes have changed too. Gone are the familiar tunic, trousers, and scarf. They are replaced by something sleeker, and so black it seems to absorb light. His old brown jacket has lengthened into a coat that brushes against the back of his knees, and has a hood that swallows Merlin’s head.

Another shock comes when he pushes the hood from his head. His hair has grown. A lot. It now brushes softly against his jaw in gentle waves. He looks older, more sure of himself.

His eyes are gold.

His magic. That is what the shift inside was. It has always been there, warm and comforting and willing to lend a hand. It’s still there, but it’s mixing now. The power from the staff amplifying it, giving it a direction. It’s always strong, but now it’s unstoppable.

On the flip side of the staff is one word in druidic runes. _Emrys._

2.

The second time it happens is a few months after the first time.

Lancelot arrives in Camelot, and Merlin is overjoyed to have someone besides Arthur to get into trouble with. As much as Merlin adores Gwen, and as much as she adores him too, she’s not one to go get drunk at the tavern. This turns out to be a very good thing because she’s the only one that tries to stop the runaway cart that is faking Lancelot into a knighthood, even if she does give into them eventually.

The situation with the gryphon is momentarily forgotten in the hubbub of it all. Then Arthur is riding out because he’s an idiot that thinks he can take on a magical creature on his own and win. Lancelot rides out with him because _he_ is an idiot that is too noble to let Arthur and his men ride to their death on their own. Merlin brings up the rear, feeling like the biggest idiot of them all because he could have just taken care of the damn gryphon himself, but had to leave Arthur his pride.

He pauses on his frantic dash from the castle to retrieve his staff from under his bed. Then he’s off again, dashing out after Lancelot and Arthur as they ride pigheadedly into danger. He arrives in time to see Arthur fall from his horse, and Lancelot take up the charge.

Merlin sighs in exasperation, and tries to cast the spell that will let Lancelot spear the gryphon. The lance fizzles dully with an eerie light, then flickers out. Merlin tries again, again, and again. He doesn’t want to rely on the staff if he doesn’t have to. He’s spent enough time around Arthur to know how easy it is to lose your weapon in the middle of battle, and he doesn’t want his natural magic to weaken because he’s put all his effort into getting good with the staff.

But the gryphon is getting dangerously close to Lancelot, and Merlin can’t let his friend get hurt because he’s too stubborn to use the tools at his disposal. He grips the staff tightly, and whispers “For the love of Camelot” under his breath.

He feels the rush of wind. Gold tangles with blue. Emrys stands where Merlin once stood.

Lancelot’s weapon bursts to life at the last possible moment, and he spears the gryphon through the chest with deadly accuracy.

*

“But I didn’t kill the gryphon,” Lancelot says solemnly, “You did.”

Merlin’s heart drops through his boots, but he smiles and snorts a little laugh, and says “That’s ridiculous.”

Lancelot just looks back at him, mischievousness twinkling under the solemnity in his eyes, and repeats Merlin’s incantation back to him, then says, “And I saw you. The light, the wind, the clothes black as night. It was you who killed it, not I.”

Merlin’s gaze flicks nervously over the guards standing just down the hall from them. Lancelot could draw attention to them at any time. Any moment now, Merlin will be in chains, and his destiny will be thwarted.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Lancelot promises gently, “But I cannot take the credit for what I did not do.”

Merlin misses Lancelot when he goes. It was nice to have someone else to share his secret with that wasn’t Gaius or his mother, even if only for a few hours. He thinks Gwen will miss Lancelot even more than he will though.

3.

It’s been years since the first time he became Emrys, and now that the newness of the situation has gone, he realizes just how damn inconvenient it is. He tries to do what he can with his natural magic, if for no other reason than it is a pain in the ass to have to find a tree to hide behind every time he wants to save Arthur’s life.

There is something a bit funny about it though. Arthur has seen Emrys on numerous occasions, and always meets him with a mix of hostility, and gratefulness. He clearly struggles with a sorcerer saving his life. Honor says that Arthur should reward Emrys for saving his life. The law says Emrys should be executed for practicing magic within Camelot. Arthur is fundamentally irritated that a sorcerer keeps saving him.

The funniest part of it all, is that Arthur still hasn’t figured it out. Merlin is wracked with guilt most days for lying to the man he loves so dearly, and that love carries its own gift when Arthur clearly views him as just his friend. The point is, however, that Arthur has never seen Merlin and Emrys in the same place. He has never noticed that Merlin comes staggering back once all the fighting is done, coming from the same direction Emrys fled. When Merlin doesn’t ache with the weight of his lies, he wants to laugh at just how oblivious Arthur is.

He’s long since learned to disguise the staff as thin leather bracelet around his wrist. If Arthur was still this oblivious when both Merlin and Emrys carried the same staff, Merlin would bring Arthur to Gaius to be checked for his own mental affliction. Although, he sometimes considers doing it anyway because who misses a massive burst of light and rush of wind?

*

The bandits close in around them. He can’t see Arthur, they were separated in the initial attack. Gwaine stands with him shoulder to shoulder. When one of the bandits advances, Gwaine reaches out and tucks Merlin behind him.

“If you get an opportunity,” Gwaine says, voice more serious than Merlin has ever heard it even when they were facing down the perilous lands together, “take it.”

“I’m not leaving you.” Merlin says firmly.

“I’m pulling the knight card, my friend. You have to listen to your peers.”

“I’m not leaving you.” Merlin repeats. He won’t, maybe can’t. Gwaine is his friend, his best friend in a way uncomplicated by destiny. Gwaine is a bit of a disaster, but he’s a good man. He has so much left to accomplish. Merlin won’t let Gwaine die to protect his own secret, even if it means Gwaine never speaks to him.

The bandits advance again, Gwaine shifts his feet to get a firmer stance, and Merlin unclips the bracelet around his wrist. A bandit raises his sword, Gwaine rises to meet him. Merlin won’t let his friend die.

“For the love of Camelot!” Merlin shouts.

He feels the rush of wind. Gold tangles with blue. Emrys stands where Merlin once stood.

He hefts the staff in one hand, and shoves Gwaine out of the way with the other. He sweeps the staff in a wide arc, and bandits are tossed away from them; ragdolls in the wind.

He plants his staff, and stares out at the destruction he wrought. He can’t make himself meet Gwaine’s eyes.

“Merlin?” Gwaine asks, “Is that you?”

Merlin cringes, and looks at Gwaine sideways from under his hood, “Sorry.”

Gwaine stares at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. Then he, unexpectedly, bursts into laughter. He’s shaking with it, gasping for air as tears streak his cheeks.

“How long have you been able to do that?”

“Pretty much since I got to Camelot…” Merlin answers uncertainly. It sends Gwaine into another laughing fit.

“And none of us noticed? How did we miss a sorcerer floating three feet off the ground, and glowing?”

“I float?”

“What? Haven’t you seen yourself?”

“Not mid transformation.”

Gwaine presses a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle yet more laughter. Merlin glares at him.

“When you do that you look like Arthur,” Gwaine says around a grin, “I take it he doesn’t know?”

Merlin shakes his head, and reaches out to squeeze Gwaine’s shoulder, “And you can’t tell him. Please, Gwaine.”

Gwaine shrugs, “What Princess doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

Merlin’s shoulders slump with relief, “Thank you.”

Gwaine’s grins softens a little, and he reaches one hand inside Merlin’s hood. It rubs softly at Merlin’s beard.

“You should consider growing a beard for yourself,” Gwaine says softly, “As much as I like having the best hair of our friends, you might give me a run for my money.”

Merlin snorts, and he’s not able to stop the grin that spreads across his own face. Leave it to Gwaine to take this in stride.

“I think it would be a bit obvious that we look alike if I suddenly grew a beard.”

“You never know,” Gwaine says still threading his fingers through the beard, “We did all miss you being a glowing magic man this whole time.”

“Gwaine! There you—Emrys.” Arthur’s voice breaks through the moment, and Merlin jumps back from Gwaine.

Arthur stands just on the outside of the ring of unconscious bandits. His hands rest on his hips, and his face is pinched with irritation.

“Ah, Arthur,” Gwaine says cheerfully and claps Merlin on the shoulder, “Emrys saved my hide once again.”

Arthur clenches his jaw and lets a hiss of air through his nose, “You have my thanks.”

Merlin nods, and offers Arthur a cheeky grin, “Until next time, sire.”

Then he disappears into the woods. He’s gotten really good at transportation spells these last few years.

4.

There are too many of them, and not enough knights. The roundtable is going to collapse before it has even had the chance to soar. Merlin can change that. He can stop this battle before any of his friends get hurt.

Leon is looking right at him, probably trying to keep him safe as per Arthur’s orders. Leon keeps looking at him. If Merlin tries to move, it could distract him. He can’t disappear like he normally does. Leon is looking.

Merlin unclips his bracelet. 

He feels the rush of wind. Gold tangles with blue. Emrys stands where Merlin once stood.

Leon’s eyes are wide with something. Horror? Fear? Hope? Merlin doesn’t have time to tell. He jams his staff into the ground, and screams the spell to the sky. The invaders fall around him, the man attacking Leon included.

They stare at each other. Merlin’s hand is clammy where he grips the staff. He wishes there was rough edges, or splinters, or _anything_ to keep him grounded. He feels like he’s drifting apart under Leon’s critical gaze.

Leon is a good man, but he was Uther’s knight before he was Arthur’s. Out of any of the table, he’s the most likely to turn him in, the most likely to run him through here and now. Merlin can’t bring himself to regret it. Oh, he’ll be irritated if Leon kills him, but Leon is loyal to Arthur. Arthur needs all the loyalty he can get in whatever form it takes. Leon is a brother in arms to Lancelot and Gwaine. He’ll have their backs, and Merlin knows that he would give up his life to keep them safe, just like he would for Arthur. OS, yes, he’ll be quite put out by Leon killing him, but he won’t regret saving Leon’s life.

“You’re Emrys.”

Merlin nods tightly.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you save The King? You have kept him out of fights too large for him for years now, but your life would be better if Morgana were queen.” Leon says, and Merlin can’t read the tone, “Why protect a man who sees your kind dead?”

“He’s my friend.”

Leon sheaths his sword, and Merlin breathes a sigh of relief.

“You won’t tell Arthur?” he asks.

Leon pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s a gesture he picked up from Arthur, and Merlin has never had it used on him before. In fact it’s been almost exclusively reserved for Gwaine does something disastrous.

“I should. He deserves to know.”

“If he finds out,” Merlin says desperately, “he’ll send me away. I need to be here, by his side, keeping him safe. Please, Leon, even if you think you can’t trust what I’m saying, think of all the risk I put myself in to protect him. Please don’t tell him.”

“Very well.” Leon says, releasing his nose, “Then as far as I’m concerned, Merlin disappeared in battle as he is wont to do, and Emrys saved my life.”

“Thank you.” Merlin says earnestly.

Leon looks at him again, eyes softening, “I think it is us that should be thanking you, Emrys.”

Arthur comes around the corner then, and Merlin offers him the customary nod, and vanishes.

5.

The last time it happens, is by far the worst. Three members of the table know now, so of course the remainder who are not Arthur find out in one fell swoop.

Lancelot and Gwen have finalized their wedding plans. Merlin was worried that Arthur would be miserable and jealous, but when Merlin asked, Arthur simply shrugged and said “I could never love her as much as she deserved.”

How Merlin ended up in the party to make the ride to visit Tom’s grave, something Gwen insisted she do before her wedding in two weeks’ time, he isn’t sure. He rides at the back of the group next to Percival, while Elyan rides next to Gwen at the front. 

It’s a cheerful outing, despite going to a grave. Elyan and Gwen seem happy to share memories of their father with each other, and neither Percival nor Merlin interrupt them. It’s late spring so the mud from the rain and melting snow has finally cleared up, and a warm breeze blows over the hills. 

Merlin feels the change when they ride over the hill. There’s a sudden drop in temperature, and an immense pressure on his ears like the time he dove into the lake when Sophia tried to drown Arthur. A deep howl echoes across the empty landscape, and raises the hairs on Merlin’s arms.

They all leap from their horses. Elyan and Percival draw their swords, and Gwen struggles to calm the horses to keep them from breaking an ankle or getting in the way. 

The creature is twisted, and bright, bright white. It has a red slash for a mouth, and light passes right through it like it’s made of mist. It charges them, and Merlin _knows_. He knows that of that thing touches his friend they won’t survive.

He charges forward, shaking Percival’s massive hand from his shoulder, and unclips his bracelet. He screams “For the love of Camelot” with all the desperation he can muster. He knows he’ll be too late long before the creature reaches him. He hasn’t been able to time how long it takes to transform, but there is no way he can transform in time to save himself.

That’s fine. As long his friends are safe, then it will be worth it.

He feels the rush of wind. Gold tangles with blue. Emrys collapses, and Merlin feels cold. 

Ice runs in his veins. There’s an awful high pitched keening sound, but he can’t tell if it’s coming from him or from the creature twisting in the pocket blue-gold light.

There’s a sucking noise, like a boot coming free from mud. A bright flash of light follows, and the creature explodes in bright white sparks.

Merlin sags against the grass. Some heat seeps back into him, less like ice now, but it’s only a minor improvement. Stream water flows through his veins, cold and thin. Someone calls his name, and he turns his head to see who it was. The movement is slow and sluggish. Just beyond Percival’s knees, Merlin can see his staff. Rather, he can see what remains of his staff. It’s only splinters and dust.

Percival collapses on his knees next to Merlin, and Gwen’s worried face swims into view. Merlin smiles weakly at her. His blood is so thin, but he doesn’t want her to worry.

“Don’t tell Arthur.” He gets out. The world goes black.

When he comes to, his blood is still thin but at least it’s the temperature of Arthur’s bath water after it’s been sitting. His magic no longer sparks at his fingertips, he has to drag it up heavy and slow within himself. It’s like drawing water from a well.

+1

There’s something wrong with Merlin.

Arthur has spent more time than he cares to admit watching Merlin. He can tell when Merlin is in a good mood, or when he’s thoughtful. He can tell when Merlin is angry and trying to hide it, and Arthur is embarrassed to admit that he’s often used that anger as a moral center when he felt adrift from his choices.

Merlin keeps him centered. Merlin makes sure he has a level head. Merlin is his friend, and there’s something wrong with him.

Ever since he ride out with Gwen, he’s been quiet, and as much as Arthur jokes about being annoyed Merlin’s chatter he misses it something fierce. It’s the background noise of his day, soothing as much as irritating. It isn’t just that he’s quiet, either.

Merlin is clumsier than ever before. In fact Lancelot and Gwaine have taken over carrying the weapons back from the practice field because Merlin dropped an armful and nearly impaled himself on a sword and almost crushed his foot with a morning-star. He also gets tired when before he could keep chattering even when Arthur felt boneless with exhaustion. He slips away from duties to curl up in his bed and sleep for hours at a time.

Whenever Arthur goes to visit him, someone is always there. Usually it is Gaius or Gwaine, but sometimes he’ll find Gwen. Lancelot, Elyan, and Percival all stop by as well. He even sees Leon once, and he never thought the two of them were particularly close. Their faces are always creased with worry, and Merlin never stirs from his nap no matter how many people gaze at his pinched pale face. 

He avoids answering the question when Arthur asks him what happened. He grins wanly, Arthur never knew he could miss a smile, and shrugs.

When he says, “Must have caught a bug on that ride.” Arthur knows he’s lying.

He doesn’t know what to do. He hates not knowing what to do, and he hates that he can’t turn on his focus on Merlin. He has to ride to the northern border to try to ally himself with King Amforlon, and his attention must be solely on the documents he has to prepare for the meeting, not matter how badly he wants to sit by Merlin’s bedside.

Merlin stumbles into the room just after dark, carrying the dinner tray. His eyes are heavy with exhaustion despite having spent the whole afternoon asleep. He deposits the tray on Arthur’s table, and collapses into the spare chair. It lacks the usual insolence that Merlin utilizes to annoy Arthur into stopping when he’s been working too hard. Arthur misses that too.

“Are those the documents for Amforlon?” Merlin asks, nudging one with his fingertips.

“Yes.”

“When do we leave?”

Arthur’s head snaps up, “You’re not going anywhere in your condition.”

Merlin scowls back stubbornly, “I’ve never not gone with you.”

“You’ve also never been dead on your feet before.” Arthur snaps.

“I told you,” Merlin says with a roll of his eyes as though Arthur is the unreasonable one, “It’s just a bug. It will clear up eventually. I’m coming.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

Arthur gives in, eventually, just because he’s relieved that Merlin has enough energy to fight back.

*

Arthur should have known better than to let Merlin come. The rope digs into his wrists, rubbing the skin raw and biting into the flesh. He’s on his knees, and from his angle he can see Merlin across from him. He too was forced to his knees by Bersurion’s men, but unlike Arthur he doesn’t have dignity to maintain in front of an enemy king. He struggles against the hands holding him down, snarling dangerously. Arthur wants to call across to him, tell him to stop, tell him that struggling will only make it worse.

Arthur hopes Merlin gets out of this at least.

His view of Merlin is abruptly cut off by a pair of thick legs. Arthur sets his jaw, and tilts his head up to meet Bersurion eye to eye. He won’t show fear. Even if he dies today, Gwen, Leon, and Lancelot can run the kingdom for him. He’d made it official shortly after Gwen and Lancelot’s wedding, and Merlin had beamed at him.

“Bersurion.” Arthur greets, voice clipped.

Bersurion glares down at him, face stony, “Arthur.”

“Your ambush was well timed,” Arthur quips, “Though, if you were planning on starting a war I would have preferred a formal declaration.” 

Arthur is proud that his voice doesn’t tremble. He won’t give Bersurion the satisfaction. War will be declared regardless of whether Bersurion actually kills him, and Arthur is wise enough to know that dying here and now is better than the unknown of being dragged into an enemy castle. Call him weak, but he’d really rather not be tortured.

“Ah, but why put myself at risk to kill you when I can just do it here, and send your head back to Camelot?”

“Why indeed?”

Bersurion chuckles darkly, and holds out his hand. One of his men hands him a curved, dark blade. Arthur wonders how badly it’s going to hurt going in. Hopefully not very.

“Arthur!” Merlin shrieks, and Bersurion’s eyes flick to Merlin. His eyes are bright with understanding. A sickening grin spread across his face, and he drags Arthur to stand, frog-marches him over, then shoves him back down on his knees so he’s face to face with Merlin. 

“Even better,” Bersurion says cheerfully, “Now I get to kill the boy king in front of his lover, and force him to watch. I could not have asked for more.”

“Arthur.” Merlin whines desperately.

Arthur tries to smiles, remembering Gedref all those years ago, “I’m glad you’re here, Merlin.”

“No.” Merlin’s voice cracks as he struggles against his bonds and the men holding him down, “No. No. No. No. No. Arthur. Arthur.”

“It’ll be alright.”

“No!” Merlin screams, bucking wildly, “No! Please! No! Arthur!”

“Don’t look.” Arthur instructs softly. He wishes he could hold Merlin’s hand in this last moment. He wishes he’d been brave enough to do it before now. He should close his eyes, it will be easier on Merlin if he doesn’t have to see the light flee in the wake of death, but he can’t bring himself to. If these are to be his last moments, then he wants to spend them taking in his friend.

Behind him he can hear the swish of air that means Bersurion has lifted his blade. Tears prick the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t blink them away. He doesn’t want to miss any time with Merlin, no matter how small. He’ll be dead in a moment so who cares if tears fall?

Merlin is chanting under his breath, a steady stream of ‘no, no, no’ that grows louder with each repetition. There’s another rush of air, and Arthur knows this is it. He’s being delivered a death blow.

“Arthur!” Merlin screams again, and something changes. 

Merlin’s eyes glow gold, and time holds still. A brilliant blaze of golden light, the same color as Merlin’s eyes, explodes and Merlin is lifted to his feet, suspended in midair. The rope holding his wrists behind his back dissolve, and a staff appears in his hand. Strips of deep black fabric appear with a twist of the staff that is reminiscent of the move Arthur favors for his sword. The strips fuse with Merlin’s clothes, hiding him away in darkness. The golden light pulses one last time.

Emrys stands where Merlin stood.

“You. Don’t. Hurt. Him.” Emrys—no Merlin’s voice rings out.

Despite the hood, Arthur can see the glow of Merlin’s eyes. He’s seen it on other sorcerers before, but this is the first time he hasn’t been afraid. He’d been considering lifting the ban more and more often lately, but this little display proves it for him. All this time, Merlin was in hiding. Merlin could have gone cold, let anger and fear change him. Instead he protected them all.

Bersurion is scrambling away on the grass, sword abandoned. Merlin advances, raising his staff. 

Merlin has done so many things for Arthur before, but Arthur doesn’t want him to do this. Merlin has probably killed before, but Arthur doesn’t want him to turn into a killer. 

“Merlin, stop!”

Golden eyes turn to him, “He hurt you.”

It isn’t anger that Arthur hears, it’s fear. He understands that emotion quite well. He knows what it’s like to want to remove the source of the fear from the world in case it tries again, but Merlin has always urged compassion. Arthur can do that, now, for Merlin.

“I’m alright. Get me out of these things would you?” Arthur says in his most obnoxious voice. He has a feeling that will get Merlin to calm more than any comforting tone could.

He’s right. Merlin lowers his staff, mutters something that sounds like ‘turnip-head’, and the bonds around Arthur’s wrists vanish. He pushes himself to his feet, retrieves his sword from where Bersurion’s men dropped it in their haste to escape Emrys, then he walks over, and casually holds it against Bersurion’s throat.

“As you can see,” Arthur says reasonably, “Camelot is protected. You would be wise not to pick a fight with us in the future.”

“I understand.” Bersurion chokes out.

Arthur removes his sword, and watches as Bersurion scrambles away into the forest. One problem down, one to go. He takes a calming breath, and turns to Merlin. His face is still hidden by the hood, and Arthur pushes it back. He’s never gotten a good look at Emrys before because of the hood, but it is definitely Merlin. His hair is longer, he has a beard, and his eyes are gold, but it’s still Merlin.

Merlin keeps his gaze on his feet, waiting for Arthur to react. His shoulders are tense in the way that means he knows something is going to end badly, but is committed to seeing it through anyway. He thinks Arthur will be angry.

Arthur lets out a shaky sigh, and raises a trembling hand to cup Merlin’s cheek, “All this time you’ve been protecting me.”

“I always will,” Merlin responds, golden eyes flicking up to meet his, “if you let me.”

“I think it would be rather foolish of me to stop you.”

Merlin huffs a weak laugh, and his hand comes up to cover Arthur’s.

“Why did you protect me all this time?”

“The long answer can wait until we’re home,” Merlin says raggedly, “But the short of it is, I love you.”

Arthur barks a laugh. Of course. Leave it to them to have important conversations after a near death experience. He remembers his rant about Gwen after their encounter with the wilddeoren. Merlin begins to drop his hand, and Arthur realizes his laugh could have been misconstrued.

“I love you too, you absolute buffoon.”

Merlin’s face starts to crinkle up in that grin of his, “At least I’m not a dollop-head.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin opens his mouth to protest, but Arthur presses their mouths together in an awkward kiss. It remains awkward for a few moments, then Merlin tilts his head just so and it gets good. They pull away to catch their breath, but they keep their foreheads pressed together, desperate to stay close after everything.

Arthur frowns, “Are you taller like this?”

“I haven’t measured,” Merlin laughs, “I don’t know why you care. I’m a bit taller than you even as just myself.”

Arthur punches him on the arm. Merlin grunts indignantly, and frowns. The grin creeps back in.

“You’re not angry?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“How many others know.” Arthur answers.

Merlin’s eyebrows jump up, and his mouth pops open. Arthur recognizes that expression, even with the golden glowing eyes. That expression means that he’s not going to like the answer. Merlin scratches at his jaw as well. Arthur fights back a groan. He’s going to hate this.

“Gwaine,” okay, they’re good friends, “Lancelot,” they were close even before the gryphon, “Gwen,” she was Merlin’s friend before his, “Elyan, Percival,” that’s a stretch, “and, well, Leon.”

“Leon!” Arthur shouts.

“Sorry! It was either reveal myself or let him die! It’s not like I confided in him!”

“For god’s sake, Merlin! Are you really that bad at keeping a secret?”

Merlin crosses his arms, leaning away from their intimate lean, “Hey, if anything it’s that you’re unobservant. I glow, Arthur!”

“I’ll show you unobservant!”


End file.
